I am presently working on a Congressional campaign, doing some writing for news releases, social media, etc. I've been tasked with drafting a statement on the MeToo sexual harassment / assault phenomenon.

As a sixty-year old, white man, I have never been sexually accosted in any manner. I am the father of two 20-something daughters, and I'm sure they've both dealt with this. But I have no firsthand experience.

I am reaching out to women who I know, and whose opinions I respect, to ask this question: What would you want your member of Congress to know, and what would you want them to say, about this issue.

My answer:

Since you are looking for general concepts rather than personal narrative, and for a direct response to the MeToo sexual harassment/assault phenomenon, I think what I want my member of Congress to know / take seriously is that to some extent all women live in fear.

Although I don't recall the source, I've never forgotten something I read a few years ago on the topic of racism -- that, no matter how irrational it was, in the United States the face of fear is Black. I remember thinking at the time, "No, not true." For women, the face of fear is Male. Men can so easily hurt women physically and so often do. This knowledge modifies a woman's existence at all times. It governs her emotional outlook, her comfort level, her behavior -- when home alone, getting in a car, going for a walk, entering a parking garage or a stairwell in a public building.

Yes, a certain amount of caution for all humans is always a good idea, but too many times for women it becomes a self - limiting factor, closing off options ranging from simple enjoyments to serious employment choices.

You know me, I have to include a literary example, this time from the Brazilian author Clarice Lispector's short story "The Smallest Woman in the World," about the pygmy Little Flower. Lispector describes Little Flower's primal fear of being devoured, and her relief at so far being spared this fate: " . . . the ineffable sensation of not having been eaten yet . . . Not to be devoured is the secret goal of a whole life." The towering explorer who comes to take notes and write an article about Little Flower and her people does not exactly understand this; but, as a reader, I got it right away.

For a woman "the secret goal of a whole life" is to not be assaulted, attacked, or violated. If you can make it through without that happening, then lucky for you. Maybe someone stalks you but never actually touches you. Whew! Maybe someone touches your privates against your will but never actually rapes you. Whew! See what I mean? The fear is always there. And to merely set the bar at the level of women being able to congratulate themselves and say, "Well I guess that wasn't so bad" or "it could have been worse" is too low.

What would I want members of Congress to say, about this issue? I want them to say that threatening women just because you can is wrong. I want them to say that our goal in this country is a cultural and social environment in which we all feel safe, regardless of how we are built.

For me, it was stalking stalking by a nasty old creepy chemistry professor at the University of Arkansas? Standing outside my classroom watching me teach, giving my students the heebie - jeebies; following me around the grocery store; stopping me on the sidewalk and staring at my chest; ringing my doorbell at 10:30 pm. He knew where I lived, and he seemed to have figured out what I was doing every hour of the day. It was a scary semester. My gut told me, Be afraid; be very afraid. And I was. There, I feel better for having said all that.

PS. No, he never touched me.

PPS. Perhaps a little off topic, but not entirely: there was also the time in high school when a few friends and I all received some obscene phone calls at our houses. It happened shortly after a group picture of us had been in the local paper, so we thought maybe some weirdo had seen it and somehow looked up the phone numbers of the girls in the photograph. Strangely enough, the upshot at our house was that I got in trouble from my mother for somehow "causing" the obscene weirdo to call our number! What???? I was way more traumatized by my mom's reaction than I was by the phone call.

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS ON MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, March 28th

About the painting: "In this work we see fragments full of tenderness over the peaceful life of a town whose center is a flowering Guayacan. Ethel, tiny among the rain of yellow flowers, looks at the majesty of the tree. She tells us that the old people of the town sit to watch the Guayacan at the end of the day."

Herman Hesse wrote:"Trees are sanctuaries; Who knows how to talk to them,
Who knows how to listen to them, learn a truth."

I cannot find much written in English about this painting or this artist,
but I did find this essay "The Yellow Guayacan"
by Alberto González

Those of us who have followed Ethel's work recall how the parochial world of Colombian art imitating what was seen in Art Forum or Art in America only three decades ago decided that the painting had died and that the Future belonged to the video, "proposals" and facilities, but even though the prophecy of the new gravediggers never came to fruition. An artist of this era who loved painting, needed to have strong convictions and be very brave to reject the tribal wisdom of criticism in the late 1970s, but fortunately Ethel had both, coupled with solid professional training, which allowed her to approach the world of her own experiences, to recreate it in powerful and meaningful images.

Our painter, a native of Charlotte, a small town in North Carolina, completed her academic training at the prestigious Pratt Institute in New York, where she had professors such as Erwin Panfosky, the father of modern iconology, and the painter George McNeil, who in turn had been a disciple of Hans Hoffman, the famous pedagogue who had opened, along with Jackson Pollock, Arshile Gorky, Robert Motherwell and others, a new way to American art and "Abstract expressionism." After a rich experience at the University of the Sorbonne in Paris and in the field of lithography, Ethel arrived in Colombia and in 1971 we see her linked to the National University in the Medellin headquarters where she would share her teaching experience With the sculptor Germán Botero and the painter Saturnino Ramírez, thus becoming one of the career artists at the University.

Ethel Gilmour tells us a story to celebrate the joy of life and the beauty of the world. Firmly committed to the experiences of the new cultural medium, Ethel begins to rework her pictorial language; This is how his initial paintings, of strong brushstrokes and aggressive color, are transformed into images more purified but not less intense. At a time when much of the art is parody and parasitarily given to cite the mass media, Ethel's work goes against the current, opting for a difficult road, since its figuration will always be controlled by that fine abstraction of its own, Which comprises the rigorous arrangement of the planes of the pictorial surface and the care in the accents of color or of ways to direct the gaze of the beholder in an unforgiving manner; These elements, coupled with an elegant and refined handling of color, speak of a cultured but also readable painting for an unprepared audience.

It is important to note in Ethel's work that special tension between pictorial space and its objects that she transforms into emblems: tables, dogs, toys, or even reproductions of the great painters she loves: Gaugin and Matisse, And also the great painters, however, she is not a "feminist painter" in the ideological sense of the term, but there is no doubt that her work, like that of Paula Modersohn - Becker or that of Gerogia O'Keeffe, conveys a powerful feeling Of feminine experience, such as those forms and those spaces that suggest the sensation of protection and, above all, the construction of an imagery based on everyday objects that, as already said, our artist elevates them to the level of emblematic forms.

When visiting the last exhibition of Ethel Gilmour and bidding farewell to the fabulous yellow guayacan, there remains a different and peculiar visual impression: it is the presence of the aroma that emanates from her recent work, a work with which this great painter has wanted to thank her friends and admirers.

Rolling its blues against another blue,
the sea, and against the sky
some yellow flowers.

October is on its way.*

And although
the sea may well be important, with its unfolding
myths, its purpose and its risings,
when the gold of a single
yellow plant
explodes
in the sand
your eyes
are bound
to the soil.
They flee the wide sea and its heavings.

We are dust and to dust return.
In the end we're
neither air, nor fire, nor water,
just
dirt,
neither more nor less, just dirt,
and maybe
some yellow flowers.

The tree is here, still, in pure stone,
in deep evidence, in solid beauty,
layered, through a hundred million years.
Agate, cornelian, gemstone
transmuted the timber and sap
until damp corruptions
fissured the giant's trunk
fusing a parallel being:
the living leaves
unmade themselves
and when the pillar was overthrown
fire in the forest, blaze of the dust-cloud,
celestial ashes mantled it round,
until time, and the lava, created
this gift, of translucent stone.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Due to some quirky calendar alignment this year, Ash Wednesday coincides with Valentine’s Day (first time since 1945); and Easter coincides with April Fools Day (first time since 1956)! That's what happens when the moveable feasts intersect with the fixed feasts. Scheduling intrigue ensues!

Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day have also overlapped in 1923 and 1934 and will do so again in 2024 and 2029.

The last time the dual overlap (both Ash Wednesday / Valentines and Easter / April Fools) occurred was 1945; and the next time will be 2029 -- only 11 years to wait! On the other hand, maybe it's better when the special occasions are not combined. After all, why reduce 4 days of significance down to 2 when we mere mortals need all the holidays and Holy Days that we can get, right?

Still, I like the coincidence of the doubled up occasions and, even better, the double - double years such as 1945, 2018, and 2029. Perhaps if the cosmic insistence is powerful enough, we will be swayed to once again privilege nature over commerce -- as observed above in connection with Demuth's "Spring" collage: "By titling his painting Spring, Demuth wryly highlighted the new reality of American life, in which the changing of seasons was heralded not by nature but by commerce."

Demuth has another painting (also in the Art Institute of Chicago) that illustrates what happens when the days become too much the same:

Here's to the novelty of our lunar / liturgical calendar for 2018, and to celebrating, observing, and distinguishing one day from another to the best of our ability! In addition to the connections, this year will also come with its own peculiar set of contradictions: receiving chocolates for Valentine's Day and immediately giving them up for Lent; or the troubling juxtaposition of "Christ is Risen -- April Fools"!

My introspective friend Diane opened the season with a facebook query: "Any creative approaches to Lent this year?"

Her witty friend Stone replied: "I am doing the same thing I do every year for Lent. I just give up for Lent. I will start trying again in 40 days."

And I shared: "This answer reminds of the year that I gave up going to church for Lent. I resumed after Easter."

In recent years, my husband Gerry and I have come up with the crazy, perhaps indulgent idea of adding something on instead of giving something up. We rarely remember to enjoy even a glass of red wine with dinner, let alone experiment with any novelty cocktails. So, during Lent, in the interest of giving up monotony, we have been searching inside our liquor cabinet, and trying a new mixed drink of some kind before dinner each evening. To name a few, we have sampled the Delta Sunset, the Sazerac, the Brass Monkey, and the slightly unsafe but extremely dramatic Goblet of Fire:

Having spiced things up a bit before dinner, we next addressed the monotony / consistency of our after - dinner rut / routine: Tetley Tea, round bags only! Lent is the time that we steer away from our tried and true favorite and brew up some of the other fine flavors that have made their way into our tea caddy: green cafs and decafs, mints and peppermints, raspberry and other berries, chamomiles and assorted organics. A nearly endless variety, yet none so delicious as that first cup of Tetley Round on Easter Morning!

Moving a step beyond tea bags and cocktails, I also have some more serious answers to Diane's question. First, there's taking down the Christmas tree on Ash Wednesday, putting away all the ornaments, and giving up Christmas for Lent. The saddest day of the year. Truly a Lenten pall is cast over my heart the first few days, learning to live again with the bare front window. In place of a few hundred twinkle lights there is now only the pale blue glow of my light - up globe, a mere speck in "the vast expanse of interstellar space"!

Second, for the past 20 years or so, my primary Lenten discipline has been to give up ordering from amazon. I should be able to live for 6 weeks without clicking "place order"!

Back in the pre - amazon days, I started this particular self - restraint by giving up mail order & 1 - 800 shopping. One day my West Philly neighbor Cate was out on the front porch with me when the mailman came by and I reached out to take my mail for the day, which included -- as always -- a stack of mail - order catalogs. She said,"Oh no you don't; I'll take these and put them straight in the recycling for you." I insisted that I wasn't going to order anything -- just look. She insisted that giving up shopping meant not looking as well as not purchasing. Her view made me take my "sacrifice" a step further and take it more seriously.

Third, a few years ago, in addition to amazon -- since I'm used to that one by now -- I decided give up "stuff" for Lent. My goal was one garbage bag full every week: old clothes to Goodwill, old books to the library sale, wherever the "stuff" needed to go in order to be out of my house forever! Even throwing out just plain old trash counts.

I've mentioned this strategy before, but this year I want to try harder to make some visible progress in the war against clutter. I want to commit to the big black garbage bag (or at least a regular brown grocery bag). In addition to the clothes, books, and trash, we're taking DIY leftovers to Habitat for Humanity, over-saved packing materials and plastic food containers to the recycle center, worn beach towels and blankets to the animal shelter or the vet (for making cozy dog beds), re-gifts to friends, relatives, or neighbors who might enjoy the surprise or be able to use the items creatively.

The re - gifting idea comes from a couple of my favorite advice ladies: The Slob Sisters, Pam & Peggy I can't find the exact quote right now, but their advice was that you have to set yourself free from hanging on to every gift you ever receive, that the gift exchange is in the joy of giving and receiving and expressing thanks; after that, it's okay to let the physical gift go out of your life if it doesn't fit in or is just taking up space. (And vice - versa, you can free yourself from any expectation that everyone else must keep the gifts you have given them.)

As you can see, The Slob Sisters were well ahead of the current trend for down - sizing, de - cluttering, and minimalizing. I also appreciate their advice that "it's okay to make a mistake" -- in reference to buying things that you end up dis - liking: clothing, cosmetics, cleaning supplies, knick - knacks. If you simply can't stand the scent of the new hand lotion, you're not required to use up the whole bottle in order to avoid waste, and so forth. Gather up all the unwanted, never - to - be - used - again items and give them away. Or throw them away -- it's okay to make a mistake!

I found that very freeing! It seems so simple, but I don't think we are commonly taught that we can let ourselves off the hook or that it's okay to make a mistake -- even a small one. More often, the vocabulary is about punishing ourselves, or paying the price, or getting what we deserve, or learning to live with our mistakes. How wonderful it would be if we could give up those negative messages -- for Lent and Forever!

How good of the Slob Sisters to give us permission! In their book Get Your Act Together, at the conclusion of a chapter specifically about eating better and exercising -- but also generally applicable to being more organized and kinder to yourself -- Pam and Peggy advise: "Remember, though, you didn't get out of shape in a week, and you're not going to get back into shape in a week. Also, one of your traits is a childlike nature, so be gentle with yourself or you'll rebel" (119).

For additional Lenten reading, about cutting back but also cutting yourself some slack, try Ann Patchett's recent article about giving up stuff, not just for Lent but for twelve months: "My Year of No Shopping." I could see right away why my friend Cate had shared the article with me: because it reminded her of that long ago day when she insisted that I give up browsing through mail order catalogs! Patchett, likewise, has decided that if she's not going to purchase, then she's not even going to look -- no catalogs, no websites, no window shopping. She remembers her parents telling her: "If you want something, wait awhile. Chances are the feeling will pass." The way I learned it: "Want something long enough and you don't," an odd little proverb that confused me at first but eventually made perfect sense.

Patchett's year of no - shopping -- except at grocery stores and bookstores -- reminds me of Barbara Kingsolver's strategy for making it through the year in Animal Vegetable Miracle, when each member of the family is allowed to make one exception to the rule of "buy local eat seasonal." Remember? I think one of the children keeps bananas, or maybe it's dried fruit; and one of them keeps chocolate; the adults hang on to coffee and exotic spices (35).

Patchett's exceptions to the discipline:

"I could buy anything in the grocery store, including flowers. I could buy shampoo and printer cartridges and batteries but only after I’d run out of what I had. I could buy plane tickets and eat out in restaurants. I could buy books . . .

"My first few months of no shopping were full of gleeful discoveries. I ran out of lip balm early on and before making a decision about whether lip balm constituted a need, I looked in my desk drawers and coat pockets. I found five lip balms. Once I started digging around under the bathroom sink I realized I could probably run this experiment for three more years before using up all the lotion, soap and dental floss. It turns out I hadn’t thrown away the hair products and face creams I’d bought over the years and didn’t like; I’d just tossed them all under the sink. I’m using them now, and they’re fine."

I couldn't help noticing the coincidence that Ann, as well as Pam and Peggy, encountered an array of forgotten products under the sink -- all those impulse buys and good intentions! It's also worth noting that they took two different approaches: the Slob Sisters say, "if you can't stand that stuff, throw it out," whereas Patchett says, "use that stuff up!"

I was entertained by Patchett's successful quest for so many stray lip balms, in order to avoid making an unnecessary purchase. However, I would like to gently observe that a simple, or even fancy, chapstick can be found at the grocery store, so the good news is that she could have bought more without violating her no - shopping rule! And as to whether or not lip balm constitutes a need? Indeed it does! In fact, the topic of lip balm has provided an odd little recurring theme to my first week of Lent.

In started when Cate sent a list of things that the well - prepared woman keeps in her handbag -- protein drinks and energy bars, a revolver, a distributor cap, a rosary -- that kind of thing. I wrote back that my purse contents pale by comparison -- mostly kleenex (Swankies!) and chapstick! So boring. Yet, as Cate pointed out: "Well, we all know that chapstick is powerful stuff!" Then a few days later, another friend posted a survey: "If you could pick only one make - up item to wear everyday, what would it be?" Naturally, for me it has to be lip balm -- otherwise, I can't even eat or smile or move my mouth! Please don't ever ask me to give it up!

Whatever you choose to part with -- after six weeks (or a year!) of less shopping, less stuff, less commerce, and more nature -- you are bound to feel so much lighter! Wishing everyone a tidier space, a fulfilling and introspective forty days, and a heart lighter than a feather! All in preparation for the Moveable Feast!

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS ON MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, February 28th

Sunday, January 28, 2018

From Find a Tartan ~ Top: McCartney Day / McCartney Night ~
Bottom: Carrick Day / Carrick Hunting
Don't worry, I realize that "Carrick" is not the same as "Carriker"
and that aside from some of the dark classic plaids, such as Black Watch, the rest are latter day tourist inventions --
but still, they are fun, right? And mostly harmless!

If you want to see a lot of Scottish plaid, in the form of elaborate kilts and scarves, then you might want to attend a Robert Burns Birthday Dinner, which is what Gerry and I did last night, along with our friends Jack and Leta. These events are held annually throughout the UK and USA around this time of year in honor of the favored and favorite Scottish poet, who was born in 1759 on 25 January (British novelist and essayist Virginia Woolf was born on the same day, 123 years later: 25 January 1882). Sadly, Burns died young on 21 July 1796.

The 259th birthday celebration of Burns' birthday that we attended -- our first time ever! -- was being hosted for the 35th time by ~

My favorite lines from Burns have always been the last two stanzas from his poem To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough (1785). During my teaching years, I would print these verses at the conclusion of every syllabus, not only as a way of introducing the Scottish English dialect of Robert Burns but also as a reminder to the students that, control being but an illusion, we were likely to deviate from the syllabus at any time:

At the Burns Supper, however, the tone was lighter and more joyful. Never mind the existential angst of all creatures great and small! Instead, the opening poem is an ode to a haggis. Should you be unfamiliar with this unusually named menu item, think of a cross between a meatloaf and a pâté. Not necessarily your typical subject of introspective poetry, but here goes:

All hail your honest rounded face
Great chieftain of the pudding race;
Above them all you take your place,
Beef, tripe, or lamb:
You're worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your sides are like a distant hill
Your pin would help to mend a mill,
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distil,
Like amber bead.

His knife the rustic goodman wipes,
To cut you through with all his might,
Revealing your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, what a glorious sight,
Warm, welcome, rich.

Then plate for plate they stretch and strive,
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all the bloated stomachs by and by,
Are tight as drums.
The rustic goodman with a sigh,
His thanks he hums.

Let them that o'er his French ragout,
Or hotchpotch fit only for a sow,
Or fricassee that'll make you spew,
And with no wonder;
Look down with sneering scornful view,
On such a dinner.

Poor devil, see him eat his trash,
As feckless as a withered rush,
His spindly legs and good whip-lash,
His little feet
Through floods or over fields to dash,
O how unfit.

But, mark the rustic, haggis-fed;
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Grasp in his ample hands a flail
He'll make it whistle,
Stout legs and arms that never fail,
Proud as the thistle.

You powers that make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare.
Old Scotland wants no stinking ware,
That slops in dishes;
But if you grant her grateful prayer,
Give her a haggis (1786)

According to tradition, the dinner continues with more feasting, more poetry, and various other readings. The conventional "Toast to the Lassies" and "Toast to the Laddies" may vary from venue to venue, depending on who has been nominated to deliver the address. I like the idea of choosing a poem by Burns to fill these slots on the program. How could you go wrong with this tender tribute, especially when sung by Andreas Scholl:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile. (1794)

The next poem, a fitting toast for lads and lasses alike, was written during the French Revolution and exemplifies the rising tide of democracy that informed the poetry of the time. Burns' words continue to inspire and express what we all crave -- to be known for our own worth:

Is there for honest poverty
That hangs his head, and all that?
The coward slave, we pass him by -
We dare be poor for all that!
For all that, and all that,
Our toils obscure, and all that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,The man's the gold for all that.

What though on homely fare we dine,
Wear rough grey tweed, and all that?
Give fools their silks, and knaves their wine -
A man is a man for all that.
For all that, and all that,
Their tinsel show, and all that,
The honest man, though ever so poor,
Is king of men for all that.

You see that fellow called 'a lord',
Who struts, and stares, and all that?
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He is but a dolt for all that.
For all that, and all that,
His ribboned, star, and all that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at all that.

A prince can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and all that!
But an honest man is above his might -
Good faith, he must not fault that
For all that, and all that,
Their dignities, and all that,
The pith of sense and pride of worth
Are higher rank than all that.

Then let us pray that come it may
(As come it will for a' that)
That Sense and Worth over all the earth
Shall take the prize and all that!
For all that, and all that,
It is coming yet for all that,
That man to man the world over
Shall brothers be for all that. (1795)

It's only right that an evening - long tribute to the enduring legacy of Robert Burns should conclude with a rousing group rendition of his most beloved poem. Anyone who missed out in the early moments of the New Year is granted another chance here at the end of the month to sing -- for old time's sake -- of forgiveness for the past and congenial commitment to a kinder, gentler future:

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Photo credit: thanks to Peter Bunder!
And thanks to Catherine R. DeLong for the vintage lidded pudding tin!
Catherine says: "So glad the mold is used!
Think how many families might have used it."
[You can also order a new one from amazon.]

It's never too late in the Season
to make a Figgy Pudding & wear your reindeer sweater!

The Lucky Cake
A cake [or pudding] that's full of charms can be made on Hallowe'en
[or Christmas or Twelfth Night or Mardi Gras or Wedding Cake]
And it causes lots of fun as is very quickly seen.
Choose one that's quick to bake, made of any simple batter,
Let each girl help blend and stir in a merry din and chatter;
Trinkets wrapped in papers oiled must be stirred in at the last,
And whoever cuts one out, will her future find forecast.
She who finds the wedding ring will soon be a happy wife,
She who finds the wheel will wander far and wide through - out her life.
She who cuts the dime, cuts wealth, and the key unlocks all hearts,
But the thimble means the spinster from whom romance swift departs.
For the others naught is stated, but at least they have a treat
In a cake they have constructed that is very good to eat.

At the time of the eclipse, Gerry was indoors, delivering a hugely successful presentation at the Cisco Global Sales Conference in the MGM Grand Garden Arena. He began his speech with a humorous nod to both the eclipse and his schedule for the day, which had allotted 15 minutes for hair styling, quite a bit more than would be needed to perfect his Uncle Fester coiffure:

"In those 15 minutes, the stylists have brought my updo to such an astonishing state of perfection that I feel compelled to advise you on this day of the solar eclipse not to look directly at my head." An appreciative audience totally enjoyed his "Total Eclipse of the Hair" joke as well as the more serious presentation that he gave on the working relationship between Cisco and Purdue.

As for what was happening outside under the beating sun, I was fascinated to read the many firsthand accounts of those who traveled great distances so as to witness not just what was on offer locally but the actual totality. David Pogue's account of "What I learned from my first total solar eclipse" is the one that convinced me to try to go next time; and Annie Dillard's description from last time is astounding and awe - inspiring:

"You have seen photographs of the sun taken during a total eclipse. The corona fills the print. All of those photographs were taken through telescopes. The lenses of telescopes and cameras can no more cover the breadth and scale of the visual array than language can cover the breadth and simultaneity of internal experience. Lenses enlarge the sight, omit its context, and make of it a pretty and sensible picture, like something on a Christmas card. I assure you, if you send any shepherds a Christmas card on which is printed a three-by-three photograph of the angel of the Lord, the glory of the Lord, and a multitude of the heavenly host, they will not be sore afraid. More fearsome things can come in envelopes. More moving photographs than those of the sun’s corona can appear in magazines. But I pray you will never see anything more awful in the sky."

And so Day 5 comes to an end. No more states traversed today, in fact we only drove about 80 miles: to Tryon and back. Got there +/- 10, found good seats on a bit of a terrace near the "necessaries" and not far from lunch (the brisket was superb!). Chatted with/ neighbors (mostly from Colorado) and watched the last of the fog burn off to reveal good skies w/ a few fluffy clouds of no real impedance. PSAs announced critical points in the entire show: first contact, advances in occlusion, notice the temperature drop (it certainly did), "watch for the shadow approaching" (couldn't discern it), "watch for Bailey's beads .... watch for the diamond ring" (I think I saw the ring), and then "you may remove your glasses now." What struck me was the noise difference of the crowd before, and during, the process. Totality was "reverential", or at least attentive. We never went midnight black but did have two minutes plus of refreshingly cool heavy twilight. The corona was amazing and totally worth it - I encourage my readership to catch the next one, in 2024. Finally, the population of this Nebraska county where Tryon is located is about 580 souls. I expect at least 575 pitched in to host and serve us. They tried to anticipate our every need, including bratwurst, if you don't care for BBQ. Guys in little four wheeler dune buggies offered rides, and no one was too busy to chat. The entire day was part of what is meant by "Totality".

Obligatory Eclipse Post: I was out on a sales call in Indianapolis today and was not sure if I was going to be on the road or in the city for the eclipse. I was a bit daunted by the fact it was so overcast on the drive down, but when I stopped at a restaurant minutes before the eclipse hit, several people were stepping outside the restaurant with their glasses and a perfect window opened in the clouds. I had somehow managed not to ever get around to buying eclipse glasses, but some very kind people standing in the parking lot were passing theirs around to anyone who wanted to take a look. So I did. And for a brief moment six or eight of us who really didn't know each other shared a common moment in our lives, awestruck by what we were witnessing, and extraordinairily grateful for the perfect timing of the clouds opening and generous souls willing to share their glasses. Many grateful thank yous followed, each of us a bit changed for the better by the experience. Hard not to think our creator was speaking to all of us in that moment.

Bruce and I also too a moment to reminisce about sitting out in the yard with our eldest brother Dave on an early autumn night, watching the total eclipse of the 2015 Harvest Supermoon from start to finish and back again. Its hard to beat that!

WELCOME NEW READERS!

COINCIDENCES ARE ALWAYS THERE FOR THE TAKING. CONNECTIONS ARE ALWAYS THERE FOR THE MAKING.

WHAT A STRANGE WORLD THIS WOULD BE IF THERE WERE NO COINCIDENCES!

ISN'T A DAY WITHOUT A COINCIDENCE ACTUALLY WAY MORE UNUSUAL THAN A DAY FULL OF COINCIDENCES?

If you are a newcomer to this blog, all you really need to know is that I will post a new entry every two weeks, thus "fortnightly," i.e., every fourteen days -- on the 14th of the month & then again on the 28th.

If you are interested in reading previous posts, scroll up in this column, "Blog Archive." Click on the black arrows for a list of months, then click on the name of each month for that month's posts. You will find two essays per month, starting in February 2009.

You can also get there by clicking on the big "CARRIKER" signs. above.

The book blog, "Kitti's List," is a running log, with commentary of my past and current reading . The titles are organized primarily by the date of reading but also somewhat thematically.

On the daily blog, "The Quotidian Kit," I post -- every other day or so -- bits & bobs from both the Fortnightly "Kitti Carriker" and "Kitti's List," just to keep you informed of what is going on there. For example, I will probably re-publish this column about how to navigate the blogs on "The Quotidian" sometime in the coming week.

In addition, I occasionally feature blogs run by friends, various cross references and links that you may find of interest, announcements of community events, news about my family, old and new favorite poems, seasonal pictures and quotations, and photos of my adorable cats (sorry, can't resist!).

On the right-hand column of "The Quotidian" you will find a permanent list of the many one - liners and quotations that I have collected over the years. I hope you will find a few there that will stick in your mind as they have stuck in mine.

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About Me

Married to Gerry McCartney, Two Sons, Two Cats, Ph.D. in English
(Modern British Fiction; Univ. of Notre Dame), author of Created In Our Image: The Miniature Body of the Doll; one of six sibs, including a twin
brother.